


Battle Scars

by CordeliaRose



Series: Spilt Blood trilogy (a.k.a Merlin Gets Horribly Abused At The Hands of CordeliaRose Because She Beats Up Fictional Characters Instead of Facing Her Problems Trilogy) [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-29
Updated: 2014-09-29
Packaged: 2018-02-19 06:42:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 9,140
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2378609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CordeliaRose/pseuds/CordeliaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin is injured unknowingly to the others during training and then is later shot by vengeful bandits on a hunt. Arthur is forced to take his shirt off to treat the wound but when Merlin wakes he's pelted by questions because of the scars. Friendship. Whump. Scar reveal fic. Reveal fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first fanfiction I ever wrote, and I originally posted it on fanfiction.net. I decided recently to transfer my fics over to here as well.

"I still don't get why you can't just use each other rather than beating the hell out of me," Merlin pants, trying to keep up with Arthur, who isn't struggling to hold his shield up, not to mention correctly, unlike Merlin.

"Because, Merlin," Arthur turns to face him with an unpleasant smile, "you told them about the extra hole in my belt."

"Are you not over that yet?" Merlin questions, throwing his free hand upwards in a dramatic shrug-like gesture.

"No, Merlin, I'm not. And besides, it's good anger management." Arthur smiles and heads off towards his knights. He gives a brief explanation, and although Arthur keeps his back to him throughout he can tell when he’s finished, because Gwaine sends him a sympathetic glance, as do the others. First Percival steps up, sword in his right hand.

"Again?" he asks Merlin as he takes up a battle stance.

"He still hasn't let the belt go," Merlin says bitterly, raising the shield.

"For the record, I thought that was pretty hilarious." Percival grins as he strikes the first blow and Merlin automatically covers himself with the shield.

Five minutes – though it feels like five hours to Merlin – later, Arthur calls, "Time!' and Percival stops.

"You're getting better at this, Merlin. You didn't collapse." The big knights looks unthreatening even with the big sword in his hand as he speaks, mainly due to the big grin on his features and the kind emphasis behind the words.

"Yet," Merlin manages in reply. Percival chuckles before jogging off the field.

Ten minutes later, Leon finishes his practiced strokes as Elyan did five minutes earlier before. Arthur calls Gwaine out only to have the reply, "I can't find my sword!" from inside the tent.

Arthur rolls his eyes and looks heavenward before giving the order, "Two of you go help Gwaine and the other time for me, please!"

Percival and Leon go to help Gwaine while Elyan calls, "Start!" and flips the timer.

Thirty seconds after the action begins, the sword is found and the three head outside to watch, joining Elyan.

"I'm impressed," Leon remarks, "Merlin hasn't collapsed yet."

"I think he will soon, considering Arthur," Gwaine points out grimly.

It's true; with each blow Merlin seems to crumple a little more, and it's hardly surprising, given the force behind them.

"Time!" Elyan calls. Arthur finishes his final blow: it seems to have all the power he possesses in it. Merlin's knees finally, gradually, give way and he hits the ground with a very audible, "Ow."

The knights wince and hiss from the side-lines; the blow seems to sink through the shield somehow. Even Arthur realizes how hard he was and gives his servant a hand up.  
After a few words Merlin nods and Arthur slaps him on the shoulder. He walks back to the knights and the now equipped Gwaine, shedding his helmet as he goes.  
"Gwaine," he says, indicating Merlin, who, looking a little unstable on his feet, is shakily holding his shield up.

"Are you sure he's alright?" Gwaine shades his eyes from the sun, genuine concern written all over his face.

"He said he'd be fine for another five minutes," Arthur replies, but he too looks concerned at Merlin before shaking his head and pointed Gwaine forward once more.  
Gwaine takes to the field, resolving to go easy on him. He looks pale; paler than usual, that is, and Gwaine can swear he sees an ever growing patch of blood on his shirt, before Merlin shifts the shield ready for the blows.

The knights can tell Gwaine's going easy on him, and they all feel glad, he looks paler, they can tell from this distance, his eyes looking like black holes in the white of his face.  
When the five minutes is up Arthur calls, "Time!" quickly, and equally as fast, Gwaine steps back. Merlin joins Gwaine in walking back.

"You alright Merlin? You took quite a blow from Arthur," Leon asks in worry, genuine worry; Merlin's his friend now, more than ever.

"Yeah, fine. I've got stuff to do for Gaius, I need to get back," Merlin states before hurrying back to the castle.

"Well, that's strange," Elyan comments, looking up from packing his sword away.

"Why?" Arthur frowns at him, worry creasing his brow.

"Gaius is away this week, remember?" Elyan shakes his head. "Probably just forgot, that's all."

Arthur replies with a faint, "Yeah." But he's still worried. There's something wrong and he's going to find out what.


	2. Chapter 2

He bursts into his chambers, his trembling hands pressed to his wound. Cloth. He needs cloth. He needs to stop the bleeding, clean the wound and bandage it. His fingers shake over the table as the wound in his side forces him to double over in pain. He sits down, quaking, onto the hard wooden bench, gasping for air. It hurts more than any other wound he's had, at least one made by a sword, which is saying something. He knows Arthur didn't mean to, but it doesn't make the pain go away any better. Merlin forces himself to look down, raising the bottom of his shirt, gasping in pain as he peels away the soft fabric from the sticky blood of the gash. It's big, that's the first thing he registers. But it could be all the blood that's flowing out. Stop the bleeding. That's what Gaius always said to do first. Gaius. Where was Gaius? Merlin rubbed his forehead, trying to remember. He hands run over a bump and he pauses. He didn't notice before, he was wearing a helmet. The nearby plate acts as a mirror and a large, reddish lump about the size of a decent egg lies across the right side of his forehead. He probes it gently, wincing. Must have been when he fell over. A knock comes at the door. Merlin stands hastily from the bench, dropping his shirt back down, but then grabs the table, dizzy.

"Merlin? Are you all right?" Gwaine's voice sounds concerned. "It's just, in training, you seemed hurt. We wanted to check you were fine."

Merlin moves around the other side of the table, steadying himself on the polished surface before answering, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"You sure?" That's Percival. Oh, right. Gwaine said 'we'.

"Sure." Even to himself, Merlin sounds weak and the knights aren't letting it slide.

"No, you're not," Leon calls from outside.

"I'm fine!" Merlin snaps. There's silence on the other side of the door.

"Now we know you're definitely not. Normal Merlin would never snap," Gwaine calls through the door. "However, Injured Merlin who doesn't want his friends to get involved would."

"Honestly, Gwaine, I'm fine. Just a little tired." He sounds a little more convincing this time, and Gwaine still doesn't believe him. But he decides to let it go, probably hints from the other knights.

"Well, don't shoot the messenger, but Arthur needs you in half an hour. We're going out to check for any trouble in the woods."

Merlin groans. He hates doing that, and now, in his injured state, it's just going to jolt the wound and make it worse.

"Sorry, mate." He hears their heavy combat boots clomp down the hall and pulls his shirt up again, dipping the clean cloth that lies on the table in water and pressing it gingerly to the wound. The pain is so severe from the contact that he nearly passes out, but grips the table and sits down, his vision fizzling in and out in white-hot squares. It's less than half a minute before he feels the blood soak through to his hand and grabs another cloth, willing it to stop. It stops in the next ten minutes; Merlin's not sure when. He isn't really aware of when he stops feeling the liquid on his hands because they've gone numb. He looks down after a while and sees the seventh cloth he's used is blood-spotted, but no more. Thank God for that. Next step: clean. This was going to be painful. He dips a fresh cloth in warm water and rubs it against the cut. He yells with pain, not any words but just a sound of pain. He breathes deeper, willing himself not to faint. His vision's blurring round the edges, a sure sign that's he going to collapse. He leans forward, and stays there for a few minutes, willing his body to obey his mind. And sure enough, in a few minutes, the nausea recedes. How much longer has he got? Probably only ten minutes. Clean the wound, Merlin. Man up and clean the wound. He brushes the cloth against the ugly slash, biting his lip. Five minutes later and he's touched it maybe six times? But it's enough. He knows if he does it anymore he'll collapse. It's throbbing now, painful, always there, so he bandages it, wrapping the material round his lower torso. He stands up and goes to change his shirt. It's stiff, and annoying. But he'll have to grin and bear it if he doesn’t want the others to know.


	3. Chapter 3

"Where are we going exactly?" Leon calls to Arthur, who's riding his own horse up at the front, leading his knights on their mission.

"The forest. There are meant to be bandits around there." Arthur points to the greenery in front of him.

"What are we going to do when we get there?" Gwaine shouts from the back, next to Merlin.

"Find the bandits. Arrest or, if we have to, kill them. Well, we'll fight them: Merlin will just stand there looking useless." The knights laugh at the dig, knowing Arthur didn't mean it seriously but unusually, Merlin doesn't laugh along with them. He's staring into space, but at the same time he looks utterly focusing on riding.

"Merlin?" Gwaine says uncertainly. "Merlin?" He prods Merlin in the arm, none too gently, and Merlin starts and looks around, his eyes finally settling on Gwaine. "Arthur insulted you. Thought you'd want to know."

Merlin nods and Gwaine leaves it at that. The others send unsaid messages through their eyes to each other as Merlin continues to ride like he is a ghost. The knights carry on, thinking maybe he just feels tired after training, and Arthur's ruthlessness. Even as Gwaine turns to looks at Merlin again he can see a large lump, probably when Arthur knocked him over. But Merlin doesn't seem to want to talk so Gwaine joins in with the other knights. Every so often he turns his head to check on Merlin and each time his friend seems to be making an effort to keep awake. Tired, then, Gwaine thinks. Nothing more.

"Stop!" Arthur calls a little while later. He jumps off his horse and the others do likewise, although Gwaine has to nudge Merlin and tell him to get off his horse before he dismounts slowly, wincing as his side catches on the stirrups. He feels dizzy and nearly trips once or twice, but each time Gwaine manages to catch his arm. Gwaine now knows there's something wrong; he'd have to be a fool or incredibly drunk not to notice that. And he knows what incredibly drunk feels like, and he's not. What he can't figure out is what. They reach the edge of the cliff and Merlin leans forward to look over the edge, hastily drawing back when dizziness threatens to make him pitch head first over the top.

"I think they're down there," Arthur muses, crouched down, his hands just curling over the edge. Merlin looks behind him and even in his pain cracks a joke, "I think not." The shouts of the bandits behind them begin a second later and Arthur turns sharply, drawing his sword ready for a fight. But he can tell they're overwhelmed. It takes him a split second to think and shout his order, "Run!" 

The knights, luckily, are used to his abrupt commands and are well adjusted to sprint at half a second’s notice. So they do so, pulling their swords out as they run. Merlin's getting dizzier and dizzier; his mind's spinning and he can't see straight. He runs, not actually aware of where he's going. He follows Arthur blindly and hopes for the best. But his head's throbbing and the cut in his side's opened up again and it's becoming more and more painful every stride he takes. He feels the blood trickle out of the bandage, the pressure not enough and in the end he collapses against a tree, breathing heavily and keeping low to the ground. The knights don't notice - they were a long way in front anyway. Luckily for him, none of the bandits notice him either. Apart from one; but Merlin uses the last of his strength to cast an enchantment that sends him reeling backwards. When he finally gets up again, he runs past Merlin, and the others follow suit.

Merlin scrabbles at the wound, lifting his shirt up and gasping at the sight of the blood soaked linen. No, no, no, he’s bleeding too much. Bad, very bad, very very very bad. And it won't stop. Blood keeps running down his stomach in rivets and he can't stop it, not even when he presses his hands against it. His last panicked thought is, I'm going to die, and then he passes out.


	4. Chapter 4

Arthur's sword clashes with the masked man he's fighting, the harsh sound of metal on metal reverberating throughout the clearing. Over the bandit's shoulder Arthur sees Gwaine stumble over a root but regain his footing, slicing through the air and coming incredibly close to killing his attacker. Leon cries out a warning as more bandits flood the area. However, their attack is soon fought off and the remainders have the sense to flee so they don't join the rest of their crew, lying on the forest floor, glassy eyes staring upwards. Arthur makes a quick estimate that they've killed about three quarters of them; maybe ten are left.

"Everyone all right?" Arthur calls, worry for his knights seeing over his usually excellent observational skills. Leon looks up from his perch on a rock with Percival and nods; Gwaine makes a cocky remark but Elyan's looking around. "What is it, Elyan?" Arthur asks, worried about both the man's well-being and the return of the bandits.  
"Merlin," Elyan replies, still scanning the area. "He's gone."

It finally hits home for Arthur; he knew something was afoot but his senses were clouded with adrenaline and worry. "We'll go back. He probably tripped and knocked himself out. That's all." Arthur sounds uncertain to his own ears; the knights shoot uneasy glances at each other before Leon speaks up.

"Sire, what if the bandits got to him?" His voice is soft, hesitant, mainly because he doesn't want to think of the outcome either.

"You know Merlin, he survives everything. Got a knack for it," Arthur strides off. Something about his posture makes the other knights follow, picking up their swords and taking little heed of the crunching of the branches as they walk on them.

LINE BREAK

"How many of us d'you think he killed?" one of them says to the other, his good eye squinting at him while his blind one remains still behind its milky film.

"'Bout thirty," he grunts in reply, his bad leg giving him an uneven gait. "Little git." He spits on the ground, cursing Arthur Pendragon.

"Don't worry, Felix." The half blind one bares his teeth in some sort of horrifying smile. "Everyone says he cares a lot for his manservant and those damned knights. Even if we can't get to them, his servant was back here a little way."

Soon they stumble across Merlin's unconscious form. They see the blood soaking through his shirt but the one named Felix just laughs, raising his cross bolt. "If he's dying, we can always help him by…speeding it up." Their hoarse laughs block out the sound of the bolt entering Merlin’s left arm. He flinches in the limbo he's in, but, other than that, there's no reaction. Rivets of blood fall onto the dry dirt. Snapping of twigs and crunching leaves reach their ears and they run, fleeing the possible danger.


	5. Chapter 5

"Merlin!" Arthur yells, his voice hoarse from repeated use. "Merlin!" his eyes swim with tears as they enter the realm of the mountains, about to cross the border of the trees into the long grass of the field. Arthur's several feet in front of the other knights, who are similarly calling out to the loyal, clumsy, goofy manservant who's even more of a friend to them now. Elyan trips over an underlying rock and Percival catches his arm, preventing him from falling onto the dusty surface. "I'm getting as clumsy as Mer-lin…" Elyan jokes, tailing off at the end of the surface. The awkward silence that follows does nothing for the already tense atmosphere. They walk on for five more minutes, during which a bird startles Leon and Percival has a coughing fit. But they didn't find Merlin. Arthur's even further ahead now, at least twenty feet. They passed the invisible fence between forest and field; now only a few trees are dotted around in the tall rushes.

Then they hear a strangled cry from Arthur and the knights run towards him, finding him cradling Merlin's unconscious form, a fresh arrow wound in his arm and his shirt covered in blood. Percival steps forward and slides his arm under Merlin's legs, and another under his back. It reminds them horribly of when Merlin was attacked by the Dorocha.

Elyan lays the blanket down and Merlin's slid onto it, getting paler by the second. Arthur's brain doesn't seem to be working right and he numbly snaps the arrow off, leaving only the head lodged in Merlin's arm. The tear that it caused isn't big enough so Arthur carefully shrugs Merlin's jacket off, rolling it up and using it as a pillow for his wounded manservant. He pulls at the hem of his red shirt and tugs up, gently, so he doesn't dislodge him too much. Then, with his back turned to the rest of the knights and Merlin shielded from view by his body, he freezes.

"Sire?" Leon asks, moving forward, but he too freezes.

Upon Merlin's body are an assortment of scars; the red speckles that a mace inflicts, various cuts and bruises, and, possibly most horrible of all, a large red burn in the middle of his chest. The flesh is charred and red, inflamed-looking although it must be several years old. Fresh bandages are soaked through with blood, and when Arthur carefully removes them he sees a bleeding stomach wound, a clean cut down his abdomen.


	6. Chapter 6

Arthur snaps into action again, but his gaze lingers on the ugly burn on Merlin's chest. When he removes the cloth from the stomach wound again, he winces and presses the cloth back down. He's no healer; Merlin treats him and the others when they're out, he's the one with the knowledge of herbs and how to bind wounds and how to put stitches in, not Arthur. It's Merlin who can successfully identify one plant from the other and make a paste using his bare hands and few ingredients. But, of course, Merlin's unconscious so he can't heal himself. Looks like he tried though, before he came out.

_Arthur_

I can't breathe. Everyone knows how close I am to Merlin, although I would never admit it, and the mere thought that all these are his is…horrifying. His lifeless form keeps blurring in front of my eyes, even when I close them or look away. I feel like I'm going to be swallowed up with guilt, guilt for the fact that I don't know how he got all these and I never made it my duty to find out.

_Gwaine_

Every fibre of my being's aching for Merlin; I want to hear him make a crass remark about Arthur or trip over some root and blame it on the aura of pratness that surrounds the very area the King walks in. But now he's pale, unmoving, hurt, with scars littering his body. Scars I didn't even know about. I start to count them but I soon give up; even the bigger ones on their own I'm sure would far outnumber Arthur's, mine and the other members of the Round Table's put together. And we didn't even know, or ask how he was when he tripped, or make sure he was always alright after he'd gone missing for several days, sometimes a couple of weeks at a time.

_General_

Gwaine sits, stupefied for several seconds, ashamed of himself, ashamed of all of them, for not asking questions like how and why when Merlin skived off work for a week, and returned solemn faced, or when he was injured and then missing until Arthur and him came across him in a bog. As images of Merlin – covered in mud, yelling at Arthur, reading a book, mixing something for Gaius, doing a comical stance with a small axe as he faced Caerleon – flash through his mind, he suddenly leaps up, startling his fellow knights. He kneels down next to the wound on Merlin's arm that Arthur's forgotten about, busy moving his shaking hands over Merlin's stomach. Gwaine grasps what's remaining of the arrow, which is essentially a couple of centimetres of the wooden shaft and the head, between two trembling fingers and worms it out, twisting in and hating himself for doing it, as more blood trickles down Merlin's pale skin, pooling on the forest floor. It's only now that Gwaine really notices how skinny Merlin is; his ribs protrude under the skin so clearly it's like someone's had to pull a meagre amount of taut fabric over nails without letting it tear. Gwaine makes a mental note to make sure Merlin eats breakfast every day, and has enough as well, even if it means serving Arthur in the morning himself.

Over to his left, Arthur's managed to stop the bleeding by some sort of miracle, and he's now tearing his shirt up, along the hem in strips about the width of his thumb. He tears and rips until he's holding about twenty in his hand – and for some reason all Gwaine can think is of how Merlin will be so mad if – when – he recovers for tearing that shirt up. Gwaine takes a couple of the strips as Arthur stares at them stupidly and binds them around the small arrow wound. His king watches him through dead eyes before doing the same, except he lays them atop of his stomach and presses them down. When he raises his hand there's a thin layer of sticky blood coating it, from excess liquid that hasn't been cleaned up.

"Sire?" Percival's quiet word makes both knight and king jump. "We should set up a camp. This is a good spot." The last sentence was discussed not twenty seconds before by him and Elyan, who then gained Leon's agreement in the matter.

"Yes. We'll set up camp here. Look after Merlin." Percival nods once, exchanges a look with Gwaine and heads back to the others. Within a few minutes the camp has been set up and Merlin's been moved to a tent, which the various knights are continuously moving in and out of, checking for any signs of improvement. Gwaine's now prone to pacing in front of the unlit fire when it's not his shift to look inside, until Elyan snaps at him for making him nervous.

"Gwaine?" The knight jumps up from the log, where he was sitting chewing his thumb – the skin rather than the nail – and jigging his right leg anxiously. Arthur continues, "We're going to go and find some food, maybe some rabbits and a deer or something. Can you stay here on guard, and keep checking up on Merlin?"  
"Of course." Arthur knows Gwaine would do anything for Merlin, especially in a situation like this.

_Arthur_

I let myself run freely in the woods, under the pretence of hunting. I'm not, not really, I'm just running for the hell of it. Merlin once told me that when he was angry or upset about something, he just runs, and it makes him feel better. Just hearing his voice speaking those words in my mind brings another pang of pain and fury and nausea.  
When I'm…upset, or angry…I run. Wherever. In the woods, in the castle, anywhere I can. But it makes me feel…better. Freer.

At the time I looked at him and asked whether he was drunk. But now I realise he wasn't drunk, or in a strange mood. He was speaking the complete, and utter, beautiful truth.

_Merlin_

The pain echoes throughout my body. There's another patch in my arm now, but I don't know why. I was vaguely aware of speaking, blurred voices, before I was picked up and then laid down again. I hate being alone here in my head. I've been here a lot before, and it's never pleasant. Even my own head is a scary place, where creatures lurk and my magic won't work. I always try very hard to stay out of this place. I can't pinpoint anything. Through my closed lids I'm aware of a figure moving around, and when the figures speaks I catch a familiar accent. Gwaine. I think. I send out a silent plea, trying desperately hard to open my mouth. Please, Gwaine, I can hear you. You need certain herbs to treat me, but don't worry about that now, you need to protect Arthur until I'm well again.


	7. Chapter 7

"You look…tired," Gwaine says, as Arthur returns, covered in sweat and shaking slightly.

"As do you. How is he?" No improvement. His breathing's slightly shallower.

But instead Gwaine says, "He's no better, no worse."

Arthur seems to tell he's lying, but drops it, nodding curtly and striding into the tent. He ignores the navy material that flaps in his face, pushing it out of the way and barely noticing when Gwaine comes to hold it back. Inside, Merlin's paler, the dark light doing nothing to help it; now that Arthur knows of his scars he can't understand why he didn't before. Now, looking back, he realizes that, on several occasions, Merlin came back with a wince or a limp but no one ever thought twice of it, dismissing it for a trip or a training scratch.

He stumbles out backwards, sitting down on a log and taking up a tense pose off elbows on knees, hands balling into fists and chin resting on said hands.

He only gets to his feet a good ten minutes later, when Leon, Percival and Elyan enter the clearing, each with a few pheasants or rabbits. Arthur almost smiles at Merlin's latest rant about why he shouldn't kill rabbits. Far better than you will ever be…fluffy tails…they should roam free…you're a clot-pole…

His ears bring him back to the present; various bedrolls being laid out and logs being piled onto a ready fireplace. He shakes himself and joins it, fetching supplies from the horses, only pausing once to ask Percival to ask Merlin out of the tent. Once we get the fire started he'll be warmer.

In fact, everyone's so busy, nobody notices Merlin waking up, albeit slowly and not very obviously. They only notice when flames start reflecting off Elyan's breastplate and everyone turns to the fire, finding a still pale and obviously unwell Merlin holding a pair of flints and an expression of either smugness or thoughtfulness. It's impossible to tell with Merlin. A delayed reaction follows, and then Arthur yells, with an expression not unlike when they found the loyal manservant in the bog, "MERLIN!"

Merlin, although not quite his usual self, replies with, "ARTHUR!"

"Don't be sarcastic, idiot. Thought you were going to die."

"Oh, that's-" a coughing fit stops him mid-sentence, and he winces, pressing one hand to his ribs. "Cheerful," he finishes, blinking up at Arthur with a look that reminds the King of a doleful cow.

"How are you?" Gwaine cuts in, jogging to the thin manservant's side and looking at him with concern in his eyes. The knights are quick to follow suit and once everyone's gathered round the fire, the rich oranges and reds crackling merrily, Merlin makes another attempt to speak.

"Good. Mostly."

"Well, Merlin," Arthur says, deciding he's shown enough concernedness that the situation called for and reverting back to his usual pretty self. "You have a lot of explaining to do."

"Any chance of-" another coughing fit. This time Arthur rubs his back until he's finished. "Waiting for another-" It doesn't slip Arthur's notice that blood comes up with this batch. "Another day?"

"None at all," Arthur says, a little too cheerful then what Merlin thinks the situation calls for. "You're going to tell us everything."

Merlin, however, had his own ideas. He was not going to tell them everything.

And hence, the questioning began.

Elyan, who had not yet heard the full story of Arthur and Merlin's first meeting, asks curiously, "Why do you have mace scars on your shoulders? I don't think you've ever used them for practice in training with us."

"Blame the prat over here. Would you like to-" More coughing, and this time, a lot more blood. And this time, nobody's misses it. "Explain, King Prat?"

"Merlin arrived in Camelot, he didn't know who I was, and we got into a fight. It ended up with Merlin in the dungeons. And then the next day, we had another-well, it wasn't a fight. More of an attack on my side. And it involved maces."

"If I remember ri-" The amount of blood in that one cough was alarming, not to mention the rest of them put together, "right, he was very clumsy."

"Yes. Well. Let's move onto the next thing. The burn. On your chest."

Merlin's eyes darken. You shouldn't have killed my friend. Nimueh's shriek. The fireball. "That's not important." The knights shuffle and fidget, slightly alarmed by the subtle   
change in Merlin's tone.

"Yes it is. It's the biggest burn I've ever seen. Merlin-"

"It's not important!" It seems that raising his voice causes the bouts of coughing, as he promptly has another one. Arthur looks at the blood and presses onto Merlin's side gently, the one without the wound. He can't feel a broken rib, but he can't think of another reason for it. Gaius always said to bring anyone coughing up blood to him, but…Gaius wasn't here, and they were a fair way from Camelot, without horses.

"Is anything broken?" Leon asks, nodding towards Merlin.

"I can't feel anything," Arthur replies, continuing to press around even as Merlin's coughing fit ends.

"Probably just a throat irritation, then," Leon says, poking at the fire with a stick. Arthur immediately feels stupid for not thinking of that previously and instead resumes his poking and prodding, earning a few half-hearted grouchy mumbles from Merlin.

"So, Merlin. If you're not going to tell us about the massive burn that takes up nearly all of your chest, what about the serket sting on your back?"

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me."

"No."


	8. Chapter 8

"Where are you going, Merlin?"

He freezes, cursing his own loudness and trying to think of a possible, believable excuse. "I couldn't sleep." That wasn't it.

"So you decided to take a walk, despite coughing up blood not a few hours ago, and with two fresh wounds?"

"Yes. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm just going to carry on," Merlin says, striding away quickly. Too quickly, it soon transpires, because only two paces away he stops, coughing away. He feels the two knights come up and take an arm each as he slowly falls, their support the only thing keeping him on his feet. Percival's strong grip slowly relinquishes as he's sure Merlin's safely and comfortably on the ground, but Elyan's stays on his shoulder, rubbing comfortingly as Merlin struggles to breathe. Merlin feels something splatter into his hands; warm, sticky blood. He hears, rather than sees, Percival kneel down in front of him, and pull his hands out to examine just how much blood he's coughed up. He knows it's a lot; but how much he wasn't sure, until Elyan says in a firm but gentle tone, "C'mon Merlin. Time to go back."

He starts to protest, but his feeble attempts at argument fall on deaf ears as he collapses forward and starts hacking up blood again, this time letting it fall onto the spongy forest floor. He dry-retches, vomiting nothing, with the two knights' stern and friendly vice-like holds onto his upper arms, and the hot feel of one on his forehead.

"He's too cold," Percival says to Elyan.

"We need to get him back," Elyan says in reply, and then for Merlin's benefit: "Going to tell us why you were trying to run away?"

"You wouldn't-" More blood- "believe me."

"Why not?" Elyan says, careful to keep his tone friendly, but not abnormally so.

"It's not a usual reason," Merlin says, managing to get through the whole sentence before having to retch and splutter again. Percival's getting more and more concerned about the amount of blood littering the floor and Merlin's hands; he sends a message through his eyes to Elyan who nods. Slowly, making sure not to jolt the manservant, they rise and bring him up with them.

"Tell us anyway." Normally, he would promise not to tell Arthur, but he can guess that Arthur will want to know why Merlin refused to answer their questions and ran off.

"Partly, secrets," He pauses to bend over again, and the knights wait patiently, still keeping him upright. "And…ashamed."

"Ashamed of what, us?"

"Myself," Elyan sees a single tear run down Merlin's cheek and ignores it, instead focusing on the inordinate amount of red now coming out of Merlin's mouth in either clots or liquid that's far too thin to be considered normal. As a knight, he has to block emotions like that, and did so earlier at the fire, but now it's harder to.

"Why yourself?" Percival asks gently, crouching down to be on a level with Merlin. He looks at him, slowly turning his face to look him in the eyes. When the manservant speaks again, it's in a low, dejected tone.

"Every scar is just a reminder of a way I've failed, or of a way I could have saved someone else," Merlin says, swallowing quickly and snapping his head to the ground in front of him again. "I'm a coward."

"From what I, and the others, saw, you're bloody well not."

"I am though," Merlin says, making a small choking sound as he coughed again. "I always put myself first. If I hadn't then…maybe a lot of people would have lived."

"I don't see how it makes a difference, mate." A new voice speaks from behind them. Gwaine squats next to Percival, and ducks slightly to look Merlin in the eyes. What he sees scares him. Not anger, hatred, or ruthlessness. But pain, self-loathing and a strange kind of emptiness. But the moment passes as Merlin averts his eyes to cough, letting the substance splatter onto the forest floor.

"Right," Elyan says, business-like all of a sudden. "That's it. We're going back, Merlin's going to tell us how he got the scars, we're going to sort him out and then everything will be alright."

If Merlin feels like objecting, he doesn't – or maybe he wants to and just doesn't have the energy – and allows the three knights to tug him up.

Once back at the camp, Elyan wakes everyone up by clanging two plates together. Merlin winces at the loud noise and Elyan drops them guiltily, realizing Merlin likely has a headache from everything that's happened. But it worked; Arthur and Leon jump awake, both reaching for their swords out of reflex but stopping when they see the foursome staring at them, Merlin looking particularly pathetic with forlorn eyes and dark bags underneath them, his gaunt face too pale for anyone's liking and his legs trembling like they're going to give out at any second. Without a word, Arthur comes up and gently tugs on one of Merlin's arms, before lowering him onto a log by the smouldering embers of the earlier fire. He reaches for the flints but Gwaine beats him to it, quickly conjuring up a merry fire that warms Merlin instantly. He takes a deep breath in, and exhales it as a strangled cough. With Gwaine on one side, Arthur on the other, his arms are grasped as he leans forward and hacks, causing tremors throughout his body. When he's stopped, he straightens up, a little embarrassed and readjusts himself gingerly so he's more comfortable. And in order to do that, he slides himself off the log and uses it as a backrest instead, bringing his legs up to his chest and locking them in place with his arms, wincing as injuries press against limbs.

"Here's the deal, Merlin," Arthur begins, his face illuminated by the firelight. "You tell us how you got one of those scars, and we'll leave you alone until morning, when we've all slept."

Merlin agrees grudgingly, with a mawkish, "Fine."

"The burn on your chest. Off you go."

"Ah…" That he doesn't know how to answer. Of course Arthur would choose that one…"I had an argument with someone called Nimueh-"

"As in Nimueh, Priestess of the High Religion?" Arthur interrupts, giving Merlin a scathing glare.

"Yes, her. Well, um, there was a bit of a mix-up involving you dying from the Questing Beast and me offering my life and then my mother's being taken and then Gaius going to stop me going to save my mother's and ultimately saving yours-"

"Wait. Slow down and start again."

"When you were bitten by the Questing Beast, and dying, I went to offer my life for yours. Only Nimueh wasn't exactly nice and took my mother's instead. So I went to offer my life in place of my mother's. Got it?"

"Yep," everyone choruses.

"Then I was going to go and make Nimueh take it back, and do the original deal of taking my life for yours."

"Why were you going to offer your life for mine?"

"Something I read about in a book."

A look of understanding came onto Arthur face. Everyone else just looked confusion. "Destiny," Arthur breathed, giving Merlin his 'I-don't-know-why-you-did-that-and-  
now-you've-just-confused-me-even-more' look. It was the same one worn when Merlin went in for the hug.

"Exactly. But Gaius went to offer his life for my mother's, and then as it wasn't the original deal that was agreed on, it would also account for your life."

"Why is everyone so thrilled to give up their life for mine?"

"Because it's destiny, Arthur, anyway," Merlin says with the air of someone teaching a two year old the alphabet, "I found out because he left me a letter, so when I got there he was dead. Nimueh was doing some enchantment thing but I stopped her. Let's just say she was a little bit angry, we got into an argument and she shot a fireball at me." It was mostly true; Merlin just abridged the part that mentioned him casting the fireball in the first place.

"Ouch. That must've hurt," Gwaine grins roguishly, getting into the story now.

"It did. A lot. But I got away, and I." Merlin swallows nervously, "killed her."

"How?" Arthur asks curiously. "I mean, I imagine a High Priestess of the Old Religion would be quite hard to kill. You probably couldn't just stick her with a sword or something-"

"No, you can't just stick her with a sword," Merlin hisses through clenched teeth, closes his eyes for a second as though tired of Arthur's lack of wit. "I blasted her with lightning."

"To blast her with lightning you'd have to be a sorcerer," Arthur says stupidly, not actually getting it yet.

"A warlock, actually, I think," Leon says, surprisingly. When everyone looks at him, he shrugs and says nonchalantly, "A warlock has greater power than a sorcerer, and only warlocks can control the weather."

"Only Emrys can control the weather," Percival chimes in. "The druids visited where I lived once, and they told me of the prophecies of Emrys…Merlin. You're Emrys!"


	9. Chapter 9

"I don't believe this," Arthur says, climbing to his feet. "I don't fucking believe this."

"Arthur-" Merlin starts to say, but he’s cut off by the king once more.

"Don't even say anything!" Arthur spits the next word like the venom it is to him: "Sorcerer."

Pain fills Merlin's eyes as easily as the tears do but he doesn't let either show. Instead, he takes up the defensive. "Don't judge me just because of Morgana."

Merlin knows he's gone too far that time. However long ago it was, the scar of betrayal is still as open and fresh as the one on his side, and he just poured a jar of salt into it. Hurt floods into Arthur's face just as the cut made by the very same person gives a painful twinge. Arthur retreats, backtracking a few steps, his legs making broken, jagged movements. Then he turns and runs, his sword banging against his leg.

A few moments pass, in which the wound in Merlin's side increases the pain from before to an intense burning and he unconsciously scratches at the hole in his arm. Leon's the first to react, slowly standing to grip a tree trunk and almost drunkenly making his way to a certain manservant and gripping his arm to make him stop from reopening the wound. "Merlin, stop," he says sternly when the manservant tries to flinch away.

"I just made everything worse. Again," Merlin says in reply, so softly Leon nearly misses it. But very bad this time."

"No, Merlin -" Leon starts, trying to guide the younger man back to the security of the camp, an action which he's sure will have proved futile even if Merlin chooses to stop struggling.

"I need to go. Explain to Arthur," Merlin explains, pulling his uninjured arm out of Leon's vice-like hold. He stumbles off, the cut in his side hindering him as he trips on a rock, but he still won't stop. Before Leon can say anything else, Merlin's started running and even in his handicapped state all near him know they'll never be able to keep up.

LINE BREAK

The small drop of salt water glides down the smooth, unblemished skin slowly. It finally ends its path at the point of his chin, and drips down onto the forest floor, landing of a piece of moss that's bloated and swollen with rainwater. The teardrop is quickly sucked up by the spongy plant, becoming something insignificant in the mass of torrential water falling in the form of pattering rain.

But it's all so significant to Arthur.

Another tear courses down his face, and with the realization that he's actually crying Arthur stops. He takes in great panting breaths, his lungs trying to account for the twenty minutes of solid running in armour. More like sprinting, in fact.

"Arthur!" comes a shout from behind him. The king feels his anger flare up at the familiar tone of voice.

"What do you want?" Arthur growls, turning his head. The sight that meets him is a pitiful one.

Merlin's chest is heaving, just like his, but the manservant – ex-manservant, Arthur reminds himself – is so scrawny and thin it looks a lot worse and a lot more pathetic. Blood mingled with the rainwater has stained the material of his shirt on the arm, and a few patches of blood from where Merlin's dug his fingernails too hard into the flesh in the palm of his hand show startlingly bright. The liquid still hitting both of them has made his hair slick and slippery and clumps of it stick straight up in the air whilst others lie flat and plastered down to his scalp. It takes a fit of coughing for Arthur to realize that the coldness can't be all that good for him in his current state and anything Arthur's feeling will only be tripled in Merlin's case because the idiot's only wearing his shirt whereas Arthur's in full armour.

"I don't want to talk to you, sorcerer," Arthur spits. If he notices the pain or anger flash in Merlin's eyes he doesn't care.

"Don't you dare call me that," Merlin hisses, taking a bold step forward. "Don't you dare call me that, and just dump me into that category with all those others that have tried to kill you, like that" – he snapped his fingers – "like all I've done doesn't matter."

"What have you done?" Arthur's a little taken back by the bitterness that creeps into Merlin's voice but is quick to retort anyway. "What have you ever done – apart from push me out of the way of that dagger – that has ever saved my life?"

When Merlin speaks again, his voice is hollow. "More things than you can imagine. Want me to name one?"

"Please!"

"I stopped a dragon from killing you and all of Camelot!" Merlin's voice rings out in the dense forest, echoing back to him off the trees. "And do you know what the cost of that was? I had to let my own father _die_ in my _arms_!"

Funny sometimes, how silence can say more things than words can.

"I know how that feels, and I'm sorry. But it doesn't change who you are." Arthur's voice takes on a hard edge again, and he pivots, storming away. He lets his feet guide him, eyes focusing on the job of stopping his tears from falling.

So focused, in fact, he doesn't notice the cliff edge until he steps over it and finds himself falling through the air. His thoughts become a mess of paranoia about witchcraft before he realizes, still within that split second, it's his own fault.

But before he hits the ground, and he's only about a foot above it, he stops and merely…hovers in a mid-air. Vaguely he becomes aware of shouting, and then hits the ground. A stone presses into his cheek and he raises his head, spitting dirt from his mouth. Arthur rolls over and then clambers up, just in time to see Merlin fall down the last few feet of cliff, regaining his feet at the bottom and stumbling towards the older man.

"That was magic you just used? You just used magic on me?" Arthur shouts at him, voice simply rolling in accusation.

Merlin rolls his eyes. "Get a grip, Arthur. I've done it before!" Then he adds in a mutter, "And I just saved your life with it."

Something inside of Arthur snaps. He draws his sword and aims a blow at Merlin, who after years as his sparring partner dodges it easily. This simple gesture infuriates Arthur beyond what he thought his anger limit was. He goes in, and this blow should definitely slice through his skin and pierce his heart, but Merlin's eyes flash golden and Arthur is thrown back a few paces.

The worst thing is, perhaps, just how _natural_ the colour looks. Arthur takes a single step back, a broken man, and flees.

It takes a bit of time for Gwaine to find Merlin. For one thing, he doesn't know the exact route he took. For another, the cliff face is really quite steep, and Gwaine's really not in the mood for dying right now.

"I would ask where Arthur's gone, but I think we both know you don't want to talk about it."

Gwaine's voice startles Merlin out of his haze of pain, depression and cold. He scrambles to his feet and then stands both awkwardly and defensively before the knight, remembering the conflicted emotions that passed over his face.

"Relax. I don't bite on rainy days," Gwaine says, but without his usual humour, and instead with a touch of something that Merlin recognizes unpleasantly as prejudice. "Do you?"

"Gwaine -"

"Oh, you probably don't bite, do you? Just stick a snake thing onto someone's neck and torture them, like Morgana did to Elyan."

"Gwaine -"

"Well, do you?"

"No. I once had a snake thing put into my neck by Morgana, though, which made me try and kill Arthur."

"So you admit! You've tried to kill the king before!" Gwaine begins to stride off.

"What? No!" Merlin runs to catch up, and grabs his arm, spinning him around. "What's this about, Gwaine? Me having magic and not telling you, what?"

"This is about you having magic!" Gwaine yells. "I never told you, did I? I never told you exactly how my father died?" Gwaine nearly starts crying.

"How?" Merlin asks curiously, noticing the glimmer of tears in his friend's eyes. He gets the feeling that this friendship is one-sided now, though.

"At the hands of a sorcerer!" With that, Gwaine sprints off in the direction Arthur went, and let the first of his tears fall.

"How did you know?"

Percival looks up and meets Merlin's steady gaze.

"Know what?"

"That I'm Emrys."

"Ah. That." Percival sighs and looks down at the flints in his hands and the now roaring fire.

"Yes. That. The reason life is suddenly so shit," Merlin replies easily. Settling across the fire, he makes a nodding gesture with his head. "Go on."

Percival takes a deep breath and chucks the two stones into his ravel bag. "I was helping a druid child escape from a raid on her camp" – Merlin's eyes flicker up to Percival's and his face softens – "and just as I'd got her into Camelot we were seen by guards. She ran straight towards them to hand herself in so I wouldn't be caught, but before she did she said: 'One day Emrys will come. One day I'll be safe.'"

Merlin swallows a painful lump in his throat. He remembers that girl; Arthur had secretly sent her away to another camp that he chose to overlook and said in an official statement that she had used her powers to escape the dungeons. Merlin realizes with a sinking heart that any progress made towards Arthur liking magic he probably just set back a thousand years.

"And I was just about to ask her what she meant, when she said something else: 'You know Emrys right now, but not as Emrys. One day, he will be revealed to you.'" Percival looked at Merlin. "I know what she was talking about now." He settles the pot of stew over the burning logs. "We'll eat soon."

At the mention of food, Merlin makes a face.

"Not hungry?" Percival questions.

"Nope," is the curt reply.

Percival glances up, surprised by the harsh tone but is saved from asking anything when Arthur and Gwaine sit down on either side of Merlin, effectively boxing him in.

"But Merlin isn't evil," Gwaine repeated. "Maybe we should hear him out."

"Magic killed my father, Gwaine," Arthur said.

"Killed mine too," the knight said, so quietly Arthur thought he hadn't spoken for a moment. Gwaine sighed, stuck his sword in the ground and offered him a hand up, which the king grudgingly accepted.

"You're right. We should hear him out."

"Glad to hear it, princess."

"We think that we can forgive, and well, maybe not forget, but maybe try to start everything again. On one condition."

"Yes. Anything!" Merlin nods, eyes fever-bright with excitement.

"You tell us everything about the scars."

"Ah." The grin slides from Merlin's face.


	10. Chapter 10

In the end they talked. It took a long time, but they talked. They yelled and shouted and talked well into the night, and when the sun was rising over the bleak ground the next day they finally ran out of words to say.

With no sleep, they set off and soon were well into the woods, laughing and joking amongst themselves like the brothers they were.

**Felix's point of view**

The king and his party moved into view. Felix grunted and shifted, closing one eye as if winking and aiming his crossbow at a bay horse's leg. Shame to harm the thing, really. It would fetch quite a beautiful price.

With a whistle of air and a dull thunk, the arrow hit the upper flesh of the mare's right hind leg. She let out a shrill whinny of pain and reared, throwing off a knight with long, dark hair and a scruffy beard.

"Charge!" yelled Felix. The bandits swarmed forward towards the party, brandishing axes and swords dangerously in wide arcs around their heads.

There was barely time for the king's eyes to light up in surprise before they were on him.


	11. Chapter 11

Arthur's sword clinks with a horrible grating sound against another. The bandit grits his teeth, fighting a losing battle against the king of Camelot.

"Arthur!" Elyan yells from somewhere to his right. "We need to get to cover!"

"On three!" Arthur yells, swiping at the bandit. He sidesteps and only narrowly avoids it.

"One!"

Leon knocks a bandit out with his elbow.

"Two!"

Percival hits one with the blunt side of his sword.

"Three!"

The knights scatter, and even in their chainmail and full armour they're faster and fitter than the bandits and soon evade them.

Arthur leans on a rock for support. His breath comes in short and sharp gasps. "Everyone here?"

"Merlin's not," Leon points out between breaths.

"What?" Arthur asks in alarm, temporarily forgetting about the fire in his lungs and scanning the area like a meerkat.

It was true. Merlin wasn't there.

LINE BREAK

The first thing Merlin registers is a bright, white light. Then a pinpoint of darkness, tunnelling through the wall of blinding bleakness.

He blinks several times and finally opens his eyes to see a castle towering above him. It's nearly as big as Camelot but not nearly as complex.

"Come on," someone grunts at him, and Merlin feels himself being tugged along by an impatient hand. He feels faintly nauseous, and it takes him a while to fit all the puzzle pieces together: teleportation.

LINE BREAK

"Gaius!"

"Where's Merlin?" the old physician asked immediately, striding out from behind his desk. "Well?" he demanded of the king.

Arthur looks abashed and mumbles in a monotone, "We lost him."

"You what?" Gaius shouts incredulously.

"We'll find him," Arthur says. He looks Gaius square in the eye. "We'll find him."

Once out, Gwaine catches Arthur's arm. "You didn't tell Gaius about Merlin being a sorcerer – or that he was injured."

"Such things can wait. Getting Merlin back is our immediate priority."


End file.
